


When Darkness Comes

by joufancyhuh



Series: When Darkness Comes [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Cullen is not portrayed as a nice person, F/M, Set after Awakening, Slow Burn, Tagging as I go, Warden Amell - Freeform, Warden Cullen AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-10-10 21:00:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17433419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joufancyhuh/pseuds/joufancyhuh
Summary: Grey Warden Amell never expected to see Cullen Rutherford again, especially not when she's sent out to investigate a magekiller running loose in the arling. Desperate to save the man she once knew, she invokes the Rite of Conscription, an unpopular action with her fellow Wardens and the templars, who vow to return and take back the lost member of their Order.But this begged the question: was Cullen even worth saving? And did he even want to be saved?





	1. Never To Heal, Death For Me Come

**Author's Note:**

> _the wind that stirs_  
>  _their shallow graves_  
>  _carries their song_  
>  _across the sands_  
>   
> 
> _heed our words_  
>  _hear our cry_  
>  _the grey are sworn_  
>  _in peace we lie_
> 
> _heed our words_  
>  _hear our cry_  
>  _our names recalled_  
>  _we cannot die_
> 
> _when darkness comes_  
>  _and swallows light_  
>  _heed our words_  
>  _and we shall rise_
> 
>  
> 
> \--- From the Ballad of Ayesleigh, said to have been written after the Battle of Ayesleigh, which ended the Fourth Blight, 5:20 Exalted.

“Another one, Commander. A recruit from Highever this time, along with the scout that brought her.”

Solona Amell groaned at the news, her hand rising off her desk in a fist only to end up pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. The sound echoed in the stillness of her office following the delivery of the report, the soldier on the other side of her desk awaiting further instruction. She reminded herself that she loved this job, loved the freedom and the goodwill the Wardens accomplished here in the arling, but news such as this always put a damper on her perspective. “That puts the total at…?”

“Six mages dead, Ser. Ten people in total when counting the unlucky fools with them.” The officer removed his helmet, tucking in under his arm. “What are the orders? We’ve been searching for this person, but with no clues, the garrison is at a loss of how to proceed.”

_ One of their own. _ This magekiller went after a future Grey Warden. She attempted to respond as an Arlessa by having the local guards handle it, despite the whispers of how this individual did the Maker’s work by cleansing the area of mages. And it  _ was _ an individual, Solona knew that for certain. A group left tracks, traces of camps and coin to follow. Maybe a loud mouth that drank too much at a local bar. But no, these attacks went silent and quick, any potential clues vanishing before the guards arrived. 

_ Sneaky, smart bastard _ . Solona personally suspected an ex-templar by the lack of magic used at the scenes, which meant each unfortunate soul that crossed the lunatic’s path didn’t stand a chance. And now an attack on the Wardens, whether blatant or not, meant direct involvement at last. Somehow, she knew it’d come to this. 

Solona leaned back in her chair, hands falling into her lap as she clasped them together. “Bring me Nathaniel, Sigrun, and Tevinter robes around my size. There should be some in the stores.”

Instead of moving, the officer remained in place, blinking at her in his confusion. “Commander?”

“Go. I wish to head out before nightfall.”

The soldier, despite the weariness in his brow, switched his helmet to under his other arm and fired off a salute. “Right away, Commander.”

The absence of another person in her office was short-lived as Anders filed in after the soldier’s departure, almost as if waiting for him to leave. Knowing her friend as well as she did, she wouldn’t put it past him to eavesdrop on the conversation. And as she thought it, Anders crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his hip to the side. “I’m going.”

“This party is invitation only, I’m afraid. Better luck next time.” She rose to her feet, attempting to exit the room to pack a few items from her quarters, but Anders blocked the doorway. When she stepped to the side, he shifted his weight to stop her. 

“Six mages, Sol. You’re strong, but not that strong.”

Solona grabbed his shoulders, fighting to force him out of the way but yielded no result. “I’m not going to put anyone else at risk.”

“Just yourself.” Relenting, Anders allowed her to brush past, but kept to her heels down the hallway and into her room. “You might have a fancy title now, Sol, but you’re still an idiot sometimes.” He paused, his eyes on her while she threw a few personal effects into her bag. “You know they’re a templar, right? I mean, the evidence is clear on at least that.”

Of course he recognized the signs too; she should give him more credit for figuring that out. Any mage that spent time in the Circle would see it. “All the more reason for you not to go. They tend to be very good at catching you.”

“But I have more experience fighting them.” 

“This isn’t up for debate,” she huffed, throwing in some extra pairs of socks and shutting her pack. “I’m in charge, like it or not, and whatever I say, goes. And right now, I’m ordering you to stay behind.”

When she glanced up from her pack, steam practically came out of his nostrils, they flared so much. If his staff wasn’t tied to his back, crackles of lightning would’ve started around the room already in response to his lividness. But when it faded all too quickly, the hands at his side falling limp from the fists they formed only a minute before, she knew his exact thoughts. 

“Don’t make me throw you in the dungeon to make sure you don’t follow me anyway. I’m not above it, and we both know that.”

The return of his anger was immediate, and she knew her assumption had been right. “You’re going to get yourself killed out there, Sol. It’s not worth it.”

“Something needs to be done. This lunatic has gone free long enough, and unfortunately, I’m the only mage in a position to take this bastard down. So it has to be me, and only me. But I can’t work out there while worrying about you.” 

A knock at the door frame, the officer from before standing there with an armful of clothes. She clapped her hands, stepping forward to accept the bundle. “Dismissed,” she said to both the officer and her friend. But Anders remained in the room, glaring at her.

“You’re the Commander. Let someone else handle it.” 

“Someone like you?” Solona set the bundle down on the edge of her bed, untying it to hold the robes up to her frame. They would hang loose, but fit otherwise. Tevinter robes. This templar bastard wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation of putting her in her place. “Is it not enough that I’m not going alone?”

“What do those two know about dealing with templars?”

“To them, templars are like every other bad guy out there.” Solona put down her robes to reach out and ruffle Anders hair, earning a sharp huff from him. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” 

The strain between them remained as he swiveled away. “It’s a mistake.” 

“Then it’s one  _ I’ll  _ make.” She slipped off her Warden robes, the brisk Amaranthine air pimpling goosebumps across her skin. “And then when I die, you can tell me ‘I told you so’. Though I’d rather neither of us die, if it’s all the same to you.” The Tevinter robes draped over her, ill-fitting and obvious that she wasn’t the original owner. Rolling up the sleeves, hoping that the small detail of the overly large robes wouldn’t deter the attacker, she picked her staff off the bed. Catching her reflection in the looking glass, her face didn’t reflect the certainty she spouted to Anders. 

_ In death, sacrifice.  _

Someone needed to stop this bastard. As with everything else, the responsibility fell to her. 


	2. Poison That Weakens And Does Not Kill

It took three days to reach the remnants of the unlucky recruit’s camp. Nathaniel and Sigrun stayed out of sight during their travels, leaving Solona to stand alone in the ashes of one of her own. The recruit’s name was Dryth, a green but powerful apostate, only five days shy of sixteen. How cruel, to kill someone so young for a gift they were born into. She meant to save the boy, to bring him to Vigil’s Keep and train him, then let him decide on his own if he wished to undertake the Joining when he became of a better age. She wished to offer the same open door to her mage brethren across the lands, to escape the leash the Chantry would hang them from.   

_ You can’t save everyone, Sol. _

Blood stained the edge of a log used for a seat, soaked into the wood so that none would know the substance unless they also knew what transpired there in the clearing. The recruit or the scout’s, she wondered. The trail, while cold, was the only lead for the moment, though she supposed she could ask around after a lone templar in these parts. But if the killer didn’t wear the armor, what then? She had nothing to go on, no descriptions to pass around, to inquire after. And it might give her away, letting the wrong person know that she chased after them instead of making her appear some out-of-place Tevinter magister.

Removing the map of the Arling from her pack and spreading it flat on the ground, she sat cross-legged before it, using her fingers to connect each numbered dot. The dots plotted each attack; she marked them before leaving Vigil’s Keep, hoping to make some sense of direction from the killer. The attacks appeared scattered with no definitive course. Was this killer a mastermind or did she give them too much credit? Not even a clear base of operations could be discerned from the map. How did she track someone like that? 

She wished she could ask her companions, but that gave away the game if they ended up spotted. They needed to stay hidden in the trees, prepared for the eventual ambush. 

Her eyes fell to the map again. What did these attacks have in common? Location, for one. All murders occurred in the woods, away from the cities and towns. That was a clue, wasn’t it? Redirecting her attention, she sought the closest town to each dot. Indeed, each one happened only a day’s travel outside a nearby town. Which meant the mage passed through one, most likely where they were spotted by the killer. 

“Yes!” She shouted her success to the seemingly empty clearing. That gifted her a place to begin her hunt for the murderer. 

_ No more mages will die by their hands. I swear it by the Maker.  _

Solona picked out the closest town, Aralt, the last one her recruit came through. Could she ask about any person whose interest caught at the sight of Dryth without giving herself away? She could claim to be a cousin, but since the boy came from Highever, that seemed too fast of travel. An interested party might be too obvious to her real identity, the scout an obvious Warden and herself their Commander. 

Taking a piece of parchment and a quill and inkwell to write with, she jotted down a quick note.  _ Heading into busier places. Keep an eye out. One of you ask about any mages that came through and if that caught anyone’s attention _ . She hid the paper under the log, leaving a small corner of it peeking out. The communication wasn’t ideal, but what alternatives did she have? 

Adjusting the straps on her pack to make the load more comfortable, she set off for the small settlement of Aralt. Only a day away, and not wanting to sleep on the bones of the fallen, she took out a glowing blue bottle of lyrium, the glass cool in her hand. A side effect of the liquid, other than the sweep of power and energy, was the wired sensation that helped her skip sleep when needed, like now or during the Blight. A chill skimmed down her spine as she drank, her powers flaring under her skin as her nerves began their erratic buzz. The empty bottle returned to her pack, and she sped off in search of her killer. 

Aralt sat along a ridge, towering high above any of the neighboring towns. The only feature of note about the otherwise uninteresting settlement that consisted of a paltry bar combined with an inn and little else. The visitors the township received were few and far between, which made, in theory, finding the killer easier. 

Questions burned on Solona’s tongue as she ordered a room for the night. The barkeep raised an eyebrow at her staff, but said nothing of it, perhaps recognizing her face from one of her earlier trips through town in a more official capacity. But if she asked around, the game ended. She needed to trust in her associates to find what information they could. 

So she waited in the room, sparking a fire and unrolling the map, hoping to uncover something she missed before. 

Sigrun showed up first, when Solona thought she could stare no longer at that piece of paper. “We have something.” 

Solona noted the dwarf’s less than enthusiastic response. “You don’t sound like you just cracked the case.” 

Nathaniel stumbled in behind Sigrun, making sure to lock the door behind him. “A templar.” 

Solona nodded in affirmation. “We knew that.” 

Sigrun plopped down on the armchair in front of the fireplace. “Not just one. Well, one, but then … more.”

“We’re not the only ones searching for this guy.” Nathaniel mimicked Sigrun’s motion, running a hand over his face while stifling a yawn. “Are you certain it’s best to chase him without back-up?”

Solona huffed, turning in her seat to glare at them. But Sigrun echoed the yawn, and Solona realized that while lyrium kept her awake, her companions fought off sleep naturally. They needed rest before the trio took off after their killer again. “You sound like Anders,” she mumbled before returning her attention back to the map. “So we have a description? It’s a man?” 

“Better. We have a name.” Sigrun closed her eyes to the heat of the hearth; Solona waved her hand to blaze the fire for her friends. “And where he came from. Apparently the templars tracking him down are quite talkative, at least to the young woman we found willing to speak to us.” 

“Someone from your old Circle, actually,” Nathaniel chimed in. “Do you remember a Cullen Rutherford?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrium=energy drink.


	3. Rendered To Dust. Bitter Is Sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solona remembers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not a serial killer love story, just so we're clear. You're going to be sorely disappointed if that's what you're here for.

“Ser Rutherford.” Solona tapped the Templar on the shoulder of his armor before popping up on the other side of him, a large grin spanning her face. “And how are you this fine summer’s day?”

“Solona,” Cullen nodded in her direction, eyes to the ceiling while his cheeks deepened to that adorable pink she loved seeing on him. 

“Aren’t you hot beneath all that metal, Tin Man?” Her hand ran down his arm, enjoying his quick pull away, marigold eyes darting side to side to make sure no one spotted the touch. But Solona scoped it out before interacting, knowing they were alone for at least a few moments before the next patrol passed their position in the hallway. 

“Not here,” he hissed, inching back from her with a greaved hand scrubbing away the dark stains on his cheeks. 

With an exasperated sigh, she stepped back a more appropriate distance. “Usual place, usual time then, Tin Man?” Her fingers picked at the fraying cuffs of her robe, unthreading a loose red string that made up part of the embroidery. Her eyes watched as it floated to the floor, only to land on the toe of her shoe. When her gaze traveled back up to his face, where those golden eyes of his watched her movements with hungry intent, she felt a smile prick at the corners of her lips. “Did you read that book I gave you last time?” 

His cheeks flushed anew, possibly recalling some of the more graphic portions of the novel she highlighted for him to find. Did he think of her as he read them, picturing her face in place of the protagonist the way she thought of them both during those scenes? Though Cullen needed to exercise caution reading that book, since the Circle frowned on anything that promoted mage and templar relations. Lucky for her, she happened to know the author, who spent many nights working on it before gifting it to Solona when they transferred Circles. 

“I did,” he mumbled, and from the timidness of the response and the way he subverted his gaze, she guessed many times, perhaps memorizing whole passages the way she herself did after the call for lights out. 

“Maybe tonight, you wouldn’t mind reading it out loud to me,” she purred, her hand running up his arm again, this time without him trying to shake it off. “I have particular interest in hearing chapter ten.” Where her highlighting ran for full pages, just gratuitous amounts of very specific detail on how the two lovers find a private place to meet inside the Circle and use the time to grow more acquainted with one another. 

But for all her flirting and despite her adoration of Cullen, a scene such as that felt like a fairytale, impossible and unrealistic, never achieved in life, though she knew some mages and templars who tried. It almost always ended with someone getting caught, the mage getting blamed and shipped away. And Solona enjoyed her life in Kinloch Hold, the only home she ever knew. Nobody, not even sweet Cullen with eyes like the sunset across Lake Calenhad, made her want to jeopardize that. Instead, the two spent nights hidden between the bookstacks of the library, settling for conversation and subtle touches, sometimes even daring enough to hold hands for a minute or two. 

Footsteps echoed from down the corridor, from the direction of the sanctuary. Easing apart just enough as to not raise suspicion, she inclined her head toward the source, gaze catching a harried Jowan as he rounded the corner in a panic. His eyes lit up at seeing Solona’s patient smile, though he tossed a questioning, cautious look in Cullen’s direction. 

“Sol!” Jowan placed a hand on both shoulders, staring at her right in the face. “Just the person I needed. Can you help me with something?” With his attention back on Cullen, careful not to let the templar overhear, he leaned in to whisper, “Something big, but I can’t talk about it here.” 

She nodded, though a tinge of sadness appeared at her time with Cullen once again interrupted by their separate lives. Always something came between them; another templar, another mage, general suspicion, time. Turning to Cullen, she gave a small wave. “I’ll leave you to your duties then, Tin Man.”

Soft, kind eyes like fields of marigold, like sunsets, like a thousand other lovely things she could name -- that gentle yet hungry gaze watched her departure. And the next time she saw them, they shone with fear, and worst, distrust. The color of his eyes resembled that of the sunrise over Ostagar, after the loss of the battle, the field stained crimson and black. 

“Cullen? Cullen, it’s me.”

Cullen on his knees, hands clasped tight in prayer. Distrust, anger, like daggers in a pincushion as her chest tightened to see him in such a disheveled state. “Enough visions! If anything in you is human… kill me now and stop this game.” 

Her hand pressed against the barrier, rippling it with her touch but not allowing entry. Careful not to alarm him more, she knelt with slow movements, keeping a hand on the barrier. “It’s okay now, Tin Man. You’re safe.” 

He ignored her in his prayers, though his old nickname caused a new look to his eyes: disgust. “You broke the others, but I will stay strong, for my sake… for theirs….” His body began to rock back and forth as tears streamed down his face. “Sifting through my thoughts… tempting me with the one thing I always wanted but could never have…” 

_ He saw her.  _ Sweet Maker, in the visions he saw, it was her who tortured him, reduced him to such a state. How could she ever hope to prove herself to him? How deep into his mind did they probe; what secrets did it reveal? But even if her presence damaged him more, she couldn’t leave him, not like this. Not because of her. 

He rambled on. “Using my shame against me… my ill-advised infatuation with her… a mage of all things.” 

“Cullen, stop this. Please,” she begged, leaning more of her weight into her hand, attempting to break through the barrier. 

“I am so tired of these cruel jokes… these tricks… these…”

She let her head hang against the wall of the barrier, ignoring the stinging of tears in her eyes. The barrier hummed louder, as if designed specific to keep her out. “There’s a statue in Honnleath,” she began, not knowing what else to say or how to prove herself. “I looked for your family there, but didn’t find them. Mia, Rosalie, Branson. Your siblings? Do you remember telling me about them?” 

“How do you-”

“And I had to guess which pier you used to stand on to stare across at the Circle, but I think I found it. It was every bit as wonderful as you described, but seeing Kinloch Hold just made me miss you all the more.” Her laughter started as she formed her next sentence. “I remember when you first told me… I tried to remember if I could see you when I looked out the windows, because it comforted me, the idea of you always being there.”

The energy of the barrier weakened as a small, “Solona?” left Cullen’s lips. Using a great deal of mana, she used the opportunity to push herself through, jumping to her feet in case he attacked. Instead, he raised a shaky greaved hand to her cheek. When it made contact, he let out a sharp hiss. “You’re real?” 

When she attempted to cup his hand, he reeled away. “Stay back,” he warned, unsheathing his sword to point it at her throat. Relief, so present in his gaze a moment before, evaporated in replacement of a brimming anger, near hatred as he glared at her. “Why have you returned to the tower? How did you survive?” 

“Is it so surprising that I’ve returned? This was my home.” And she meant every word. She lived in these walls for twenty years, only to get ripped away from it. And now to return and find it in such a state? Find the man she cared for holding a sword against her? 

“As it was mine,” he spat. “Look what the mages have done to it! They deserve to die, Uldred most of all.” 

“The mages were a victim, too!” She moved the point of his sword away, careful not to cut her hand on the blade. “I saw what they did to the Tranquil, what they did to those who didn’t join the rebellion.”

“Only mages have that much power at their fingertips,” he growled, deciding not to raise his sword at her again. “Only mages are so susceptible to the infernal whisperings of the demons.” 

 

* * *

Solona fell silent, long enough for Nathaniel to prode her with the toe of his boot. “Amell?” 

As if waking from a daze, Solona shook her head, coming back to her senses. A question had been asked, had it not? Wetting her lips as she regained her voice, she gave a slow, deliberate nod of her head. “Yes, I know Cullen Rutherford.” 


	4. In My Arms Lies Eternity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter what.

“I thought I might find you here.” Sigrun stretched her arms above her head before taking a seat beside Solona. 

The Warden Commander gave no acknowledgement as her gaze kept to the horizon of the arling. After Nathaniel told her the name of their supposed magekiller, she left her companions to their sleep while she did her own digging, this time not caring to blow her cover as she inquired after someone matching Cullen’s description. Sure enough, he came through, and not part of the templar entourage as she originally hoped. 

_ Tin Man, what happened to you? _

A flash of his marigold eyes, scared, sickened when her touch grazed his arm.  _ I don’t want to leave you like this.  _ Him, trembling still beneath his armor. What happened to him at the Hold, it changed something in him; she felt it when he begged her to kill any mages left in the Circle. 

The wind blew a few strands of dark hair into her face as she gazed out from her perch on the roof of the inn, eyes glazed over as she struggled with processing this new information. Did the parameters of her mission change? Perhaps Anders should’ve come, then he could advise her on how to proceed. 

Cullen would recognize her, know her for her station. And in that, recognize the trap laid out for him. The smart decision was to go back to Vigil’s Keep, regroup, replan the approach. But the appearance of other templars set off all sorts of alarms. She knew how they closed ranks when it came to one of their own, how they sought to bring him back into the fold. Putting Cullen back into the Circle in his state? He needed help, not a return to his position over mages where the effects of his trauma played out on repeat. How many more mages would die? Turn Tranquil? 

It wasn’t only about Cullen. They needed to reach him before the templars, simple as that. What she did once she found him, that remained to be figured out. 

Solona’s attention shifted at a cleared throat, Sigrun’s big eyes staring at her as she waved a hand in her direction. “You okay there, Commander?” 

Jumping to her feet, Solona stretched out her muscles before marching toward where she climbed up. “We need to move out tonight. There’s a lot of ground to cover and the addition of the other templars shortens the time to do it.” 

Sigrun chewed her lip, as if wishing to inquire further about the sudden change in attitude, but Solona disappeared over the edge before giving her the chance. No sleep again tonight it seemed, but at least her companions were now well rested. She threw together her pack, and by the time Sigrun made her way back into the room, Solona’s nerves buzzed with anxiousness to leave. 

“Who is this guy, Commander?” Sigrun worked to regather her and Nathaniel’s belongings - _ where was he?- _ as she probed for answers. “You’ve been acting really weird since Nate mentioned his name.” 

_ Nate, was it? _ Solona bit back her comment on the new name for Nathaniel. How did she begin to explain the complexities of what she and Cullen once were? Alistair tried to inquire once they left Kinloch Hold, possibly elected by the group to do so. 

_ “That templar in there… were you and he… close?” Alistair’s cheeks darkened to the deepest shades of red as he tried not to meet her gaze. She only wanted left alone to her thoughts, but then Alistair approached, looking the very picture of nervousness.  _

_ “We wanted to be.” Solona leaned forward to dig her chin into her knees, the campfire the only warmth she felt.  _

That was the question, wasn’t it? Who was Cullen Rutherford? The sweet boy with a wild blush that graced his face whenever they locked eyes? Or was it the scared man trapped behind a barrier, condemning all mages to the sword? 

“He… was a friend.” Solona sighed, hoping her response enough. 

She tossed a quick look over her shoulder when the door creaked open, announcing Nathaniel’s return. He stared at them, wide-eyed, with a sweetroll hanging out from between his lips, arms full of various foods from the local eateries. Struggling not to drop anything, he reached up to free his mouth. “We’re heading out already?” 

“If the templars get to him first, they’ll put him back in the Circle. We can’t let that happen.” Horses. If they could get some horses, that might cut back on their time. No one in town mentioned either Cullen or the templars having them.  Or she could cast haste and get them all moving quicker through the forest. 

Nathaniel dumped his armful of food onto the table, a real feast from how far it spread out. He tossed a sweetroll in Sigrun’s direction, and then a potato loaf in Solona’s, both caught with ease by their intended recipient. “And then? What happens when we catch up to them?” 

So he shared in Sigrun’s doubts.Some Commander she was turning out to be, the people serving her doubting her ability to make decisions so quickly. But didn’t she share in those doubts? She untied her hair only to redo the bun tighter, tucking away any strays, trying to use the time to think of a more acceptable answer than  _ we’ll see when we get there.  _ “They don’t take Cullen.” Her eyes swept the room, moving from Nathaniel’s hard gaze to Sigrun’s more curious one. “No matter what.” 

Both nodded their heads, understanding what she asked. She’d save Cullen, no matter what it took. No matter what that meant. 

**Author's Note:**

> Based off the idea that Cullen, after Kinloch Hold, hunts down and kills mages before the templars grab him and send him to Kirkwall. I think that ended up being retconned by the writer (or it might still be canon) but it's certainly canon in this story.
> 
> Chapter titles will be taken from various references from the Thedas world. 
> 
> Currently seeking a beta.


End file.
